


return the favor

by verity



Series: tween wolf [40]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Consensual Possession, Demonic Possession, Family, Gen, Interrogation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-27
Updated: 2013-05-27
Packaged: 2017-12-13 02:49:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/819087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verity/pseuds/verity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Protection," the sheriff repeats.</p>
            </blockquote>





	return the favor

**Author's Note:**

  * For [whiskey_in_tea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/whiskey_in_tea/gifts).



> content notes: brief non-explicit description of self-injury, lots of talking about killing people in this chapter
> 
> This is update 1 of 2 for today.

"Protection," the sheriff repeats.

"That's what—he said," Allison says, tapping her fingers against her knee. "If—something went wrong, if something bad happened, if our family was in danger—not just me, our family—I could use it."

Laura gives the sheriff a meaningful eyebrow.

"So what has it done so far?" he asks Allison. "How does it protect you?"

"No one's found me yet," she says. "I'm not dead. How's that?"

Even with the fake IDs, the vehicle changes, her flight across the country should have been possible for someone like her to follow. Allison's tracked wolves like that before, undone a button on her blouse and put on a sugar-sweet smile for motel clerks and gas station attendants, flashed the Argent crest at her brethren in bars and parlors alike. It's easy enough if you can guess the final destination.

"Yet," Laura says, canines gleaming in the low light. "So they'll come for you here, you mean? You've lured hunters who hunt _hunters_ onto my territory?"

Allison grinds the heels of her palms against her eyes. "They wouldn't hurt your pack," she says. "They—they watch over your kind, okay? That's why—I came. I thought, maybe, if Stiles, if Scott—I didn't think you'd help me, but maybe—my dad. Maybe."

"Does your dad know about—" The sheriff gestures at her hip. "Whatever that is."

"He helped," Allison says. "I couldn't—do it by myself."

Her hand started to shake after she made the first cut, the round, high arc, and she almost dropped the knife on the floor. It was her favorite knife, the Spyderco she clipped on the opposite hip every day and kept by her side every night. Dad took it from her, looked up, and waited for her to nod her assent before he kept going. Allison didn't look away. She wasn't weak. She wasn't helpless. She could do this, to save them.

The sheriff runs a hand over his face. " _Christ_."

Laura reaches out to touch his shoulder. "You're not supposed to," she says to Allison, face softer than Allison's ever seen it. "That's not—you can't take care of yours on your own. That's too much for any one person."

"Easy for you to say," Allison snaps. "You've got—" she waves her hand at the sheriff, the room, the town around them. "All of this. Even after—what she did, you still have—them. I don't have anything except my Dad, and—Scott and Stiles think, they _believe_ in me, but they wouldn't, they won't, when they know."

"I think you're underestimating them," Laura says. She sighs. "They're pigheaded. They're—they care about you. It's our way."

The sheriff waits a moment before he asks, "So what does it do, Allison? What happened last night?"

All of the sudden, Allison feels tired right down to her bones; she's been running on adrenaline for weeks, but her confession has yanked the treadmill out from beneath her. "I don't know. I'm supposed to be able to control it, but—something went wrong."

"We should call Alan," the sheriff says, glancing at Laura.

Laura shakes her head. "No, that's—I want to talk to Stiles first, and Daphne and her sister—I need to know what they saw."

"It looks like fog," Allison says. "Like—it's thick, and damp, somehow. I didn't know other people could see it. It gets—hungry. But not like that, before."

"What does it eat?" the sheriff asks; he looks like Allison feels.

The demon burned like ice, settling inside her, terror so sharp she thought she was going to die, fog roiling from her mouth. "It wasn't—" she says. "It was just supposed to be me."

—

"Stiles can't handle this," Laura says. Allison's resting her head on her folded arms, half-asleep; the sheriff's left them alone for a few minutes. "His mother—you never met her, right—there might be things in the house, though, that'll help. John's taking a few vacation days. You're going to stay with them."

"You should just—do it," Allison mutters against her arm. "Easier. For everybody."

Laura bends down to growl against Allison's ear. "Easier for _you_ ," she says. "You think this is some kind of justice? Your family burned mine alive, now I get to return the favor? Do you think I want to hurt you?"

"I don't know what you want." Allison squeezes her eyes shut so she doesn't cry.

"You know what happens when you kill people," Laura says; not a question. "It fucks you up inside, even if—there was no other way, even if you tell yourself you're just putting down an animal, there's no one home. Don't put that on anyone else. Don't you dare—I'll do it, Allison, don't you think that won't—put that on Scott, or Stiles, any of mine."

The pack that bit her mother weren't animals, but she still—she took them out, easy as breathing, one by one, got the alpha in Albany a week after her grandfather died. Allison didn't use an arrow for her, just put a bullet in both knees before getting to work, left the body exposed on the mountain, a bloody wreck of viscera. Nothing helped. Her mother was still dead. She got out of bed the next morning and Dad asked, _What do you want to do, honey?_ and she didn't have an answer.

"No," Allison says. "I won't."

Laura pulls away, moves toward the door. "I don't want to kill you. You're the bottle for the genie; as long as it's in you, it's not loose on my territory. You know that I'm not strong enough to take that on. None of us are, not even you."

"Are you giving me sanctuary?" Allison says.

Laura laughs. "Hardly. I want you gone, Argent, but they're—John's not going to let you go so easily, and neither are the boys. I'll give them a week."

—

Allison rides in the back of the sheriff's cruiser; her car's still at Lydia's house, and she doesn't bother to ask if she can sit up front. "You'll be in the guest room," the sheriff says. "Not the Martins', but we do have clean sheets."

"No, that's—" Allison bites her lip. "You're, this is—this is a lot."

She caught a glimpse of his frown in the rearview mirror. "Don't take this the wrong way, but you're still a kid, Allison. You don't have to do this by yourself. Your parents, they should—"

"My mother's dead," she says.

"So's my wife," the sheriff says.

The mattress in the guest bedroom sags, but the sheets are clean, as promised, and there's a quilt just the right weight for an air-conditioned summer day. It's simple, blue and white blocks with sloppy handstitching where the corners meet; she doesn't have to turn up the corner and see the initials SIS to know who made it. Allison shucks off her jeans and puts the knife that Laura returned to her before she left the station under her pillow.

She doesn't dream.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm [ladyofthelog](http://ladyofthelog.tumblr.com) on tumblr.


End file.
